


No Return Policy

by AL (AlchemysHomunculi)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlchemysHomunculi/pseuds/AL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Jones had expected her new house to come with a few nasty surprises. However, it seems that overgrown weeds and broken floor boards are going to be the least of her worries as she learns more about the peculiar history behind her home. Had she known all this before, she would have never of bought it. Even if her neighbor was cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Recently I've been experimenting with some new ideas and prompts for stories. This idea stuck out the most to me. I hope you all like the first chapter. I look forward to any comments or critique for this story, enjoy!

The ride had been interminable, filled with the incessant blaring of this year's chart topping songs from her car radio. At first Amelia had sang along to them, her tone varying between childish and dramatic depending on the song. By the time an hour had gone by, it felt as if her brain was pounding up against her skull in sync with the beat of the songs. She ended up turning the volume down to one of the lowest settings, still loud enough to be heard. Despite what her head felt, silence was the type of pain she dreaded the most.

Why she was moving to an isolated house in the middle of a forest was beyond everyone else. Most people's dreams involved high paying jobs, loving families or even fame. Amelia's dream, however, was simple. All she wanted was a house. Not just any house, though. There was only one place that would ever fulfill her desire.

Amelia could tell she was beginning to get close to it and it wasn't just because the GPS told her that. The roads were becoming increasing rugged with every mile. The open fields that had surrounded her quickly turned into a compact forest, blocking her view on everything but the road laid out in front of her.

Amelia blinked at the sound of a gradual buzzing noise coming from within the car. At first she had thought that the speakers were at fault seeing as they weren't in the best of conditions. A quick glance towards her phone told her otherwise. Without taking her eyes off the road, her right hand reached down towards the console. Her fingers shifted through the various cosmetics and change before wrapping around the ends of the buzzing blue tooth headset.

"Aha!" She grinned triumphantly, placing the headset against in her ear and pressing the accept button. "Hey, Amelia Jones speaking. Who's this?"

"Your Mother." Amelia suppressed the urge to giggle at the stern tone. "Where are you?"

The girl took a quick look over the screen of the GPS. "About," She stretched out the word for a few seconds. "Ten minutes away, why?"

"You were supposed to call me once you crossed into Massachusetts."

Hesitating to reply, she chuckled nervously. For a few seconds she forget that she was a grown adult, moving to her own house where she could make her own rules and curfews. Her parents were states away, unable to do or saying anything that wasn't over the phone. "Sorry mom, I kind of-sort of forgot to. I've been driving on and off for hours so you can't really blame me for forgetting. I mean I'm talking to you now, right? That's gotta count for something."

Even though she couldn't see her, Amelia could tell that she was rubbing at her temple. The soft sigh she heard from the other line was proof enough. "Can you at least try to remember to call me before you go to bed tonight?"

"Yessss, mooom." She said in a deliberately grating voice.

"Sweetheart I just want to make sure you're okay."

"You know this ain't the first time I've been on my own."

Her mother shook her head from the other end of the line. "I know Amy, but sharing a college dorm room with another person is different from living all alone in a house that's several miles away from anywhere."

"You shouldn't worry so much, I'll be fine." It was relieving to hear the faint chuckle that came from her mother.

"Honey, I'm your mother. Worrying is a part of my job description." Pausing for a second, she finally said. "Listen, I've got to go. Just remember to call me later tonight and if the house is in worse condition than you thought, please check into a hotel for a few nights. Oh and don't forget to buy some groceries tomorrow and-"

"Love you mom, bye."

"Amel-" the call ended before her mother could continue. For a few minutes she feared that her mother would call again, scolding her for hanging up. However, it became evident that her mother wasn't going to bother to call her again.

Her red Ford Escort began to bobble up and down as it slid down the gravel road, mentally groaning that she would have to take this road every day from now on. She pushed the thought to the back of her head, reminding herself that it was worth it.

At least it was until she finally set her eyes on the house after more than ten years. The incisive bouncing of her car upon the coarse road ceased once it pulled up a little bit farther than twenty feet away from the porch steps (There seemed to be no driveway or garage for her to park anywhere else). "Lovely," she stated bitterly. Amelia had told herself over and over again that it would be in pretty bad shape, worse than when she had last seen it. Apparently she hadn't said it enough for she was in no way prepared for . . . this.

There was no denying that Amelia was a colorful girl. The type of girl who, when she was little, enjoyed painting everything but the paper, much to her parent's dismay. To her, dancing was any type of erratic and energetic movements done while listening to music, regardless as to whether it was in beat with the rhythm. The type of singing that people kept hidden away in their showers was proudly bellowed out whenever the mood was right in her eyes.

The only color this house had was from the green weeds that had gradually climbed its way up the walls. The paint was white, or at least was white. The shade reminded Amelia of the filthy looking snow you saw on the edge of sidewalks. The type that still lingered around once the grass had come up again and wasn't quite snow but more of a slushy.

She squinted her eyes to detect the next problem. The wooden columns that held up the porch seemed to lean in an odd angle. It wasn't critically dangerous at the moment but without proper help it would soon get that way. The only plus was that the windows were still intact. She couldn't say the same thing for the porch steps though. She would have to fix that first seeing as she was likely to forget about it during the night and trip on them on her way out in the morning.

Amelia doubted that she would be able to afford it had it been in a better condition. The house itself was in a Victorian style, much different than the colonial homes she grew up in as a child. The list of reasons why this particular house was a wreck could go on forever in her head. Instead of dwelling on them she chose to reverse the scowl on her lips. Character, she thought, this house has character. Although saying something had character didn't necessarily make it good.

Without much thought, her hand reached out to open the car door. She kept her eyes trained on her new home as she slid out of her seat to stand on the grubby, overgrown grass. In her head, she twisted the scene in front of her. Now before her stood the type of place her family could spend their Christmas's at. It was like one of the homes on HGTV. Modern aspects were incorporated into it in a way that didn't diminish its old world style. Instead of unsightly white paint, it adorned the brightest of blues. Flowers of all different shades hugged the sides of the house, instead of green and brown weeds. Above all, there was no signs of structural damage anywhere.

A hum of content passed her lips as she imagined her 'finished' house. "What are you smiling at?" The unexpected statement had her perfect image disappear.

Her teeth clenched down on the side of her mouth, suppressing a yelp of surprise. She had meant to turn around to face the unknown person but the sharp twist had her falling flat on her butt. "Huh," she blinked, looking up towards the strange man "who are you?"

The man before her was unfamiliar, he couldn't be one of her friends who 'promised' to visit sometime. Not like she had any British friends anyway. From this angle it seemed as if he was towering over her but if she stood up, she would see that he was only an inch taller than herself. His attire could be considered casual but to her seemed to stuffy for her tastes. The trimmed look he had didn't seem to match his blonde, disheveled hair.

She was a bit taken aback when he reached his hand out towards her, instead of replying to her question. Hesitating, she gradually brought her hand up to his. Her fingers ghosted over his palm, reluctant to accept this stranger's help. Shaking off the feeling, she grabbed his hand and let him help her up. Their grip on each other lingered for a few seconds even though she was back on her feet. His hand wasn't cold or warm, actually, it was like holding an inanimate object.

His thumb briefly brushed over the edge of her knuckles before he pulled his hand away altogether. "Oh forgive me, I forgot to answer your question." A brief, almost tired looking smile appeared on his lips as he paused before continuing his answer. "I'm Arthur Kirkland," he smiled at the young women "and you must be my new neighbor."


	2. Chapter 2

The smile he had faded as he noticed the skeptical way her eyes narrowed at him. "What do you mean by new neighbor? I was told that no one lived anywhere around here." She strictly recalled the word they used to describe this area of the woods, isolated. A term that she knew meant something that was far away from other places, buildings, or people. If what Arthur said was true then it meant that the relator who sold her this house didn't seem to think that Arthur was a person. Although, it was more likely that they simply neglected to mention him.

"Hm, then it seems that you were wrongly informed." His gaze briefly left her for the house. "Although, I'm guessing that's not the only lie you were told."

"Actually, for your information, I knew very well what I was getting into." She also knew that part of that was a lie.

His eyebrows raised up curiously as the beginnings of a smirk appeared on his lips. Although he hadn't meant to insult her, she took it that way. "I haven't seen you around here before, is this your first time seeing it?"

"I've seen it before," she paused "just not recently." The last part was spoken softly, something she didn't usually do.

"Just how long ago was that?"

She considered lying to him. He seemed young, probably around her age. He couldn't have been living here long especially since he was British. "Well, I mean I-I would have come back sooner if my parents didn't move away and-and I already saw it once so I didn't think it was necessary for me to come all this way just to see it before I bought it." It was obvious to tell that he was becoming impatient with her rambling. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, looking down she answered "It's been ten years." It may have been the look he gave or the just the general way he came off to her, either way she found herself telling the truth.

Amelia never enjoyed overly critical people, usually she brushed people like that off and continued on with whatever she was doing. However, somehow she didn't want him to look at her like they did. Like she was naïve child. "But you did see recent pictures of it, right?"

Amelia knew that no matter what she told him, she would sound like an idiot. Saying yes meant that she knew what condition the outside of it was in beforehand. Saying no meant that she bought this place knowing very little about it. "Not really," she admitted.

"You're telling me that you made a life altering decision that probably cost someone like you quite a bit of their savings and you didn't even know what it looked like!" His reaction reminded her of the one her parents had when she first told them the news.

"Correction, I didn't know what it looked like recently." He shook his head at the light smile she made. How could anyone smile when they just made one of the biggest mistakes of their life?

"Have you seen what it looks like on the inside?"

"What?"

Scoffing he repeated, "I asked if you've ever seen what it looks like on the inside."

Her answer was obvious to him when she began to rub the back of her head. "No, but it's not like the inside can be any worse than the outside, right?"

He couldn't help but laugh at her statement. "Well you're in for a big surprise."

The hand on her head joined the other one on her hips. "Have you ever seen what it looks like on the inside?"

"I have," he stated flatly. "I guess you could say that I used to be a bit of a caretaker for the original owner."

Now it was Amelia's turn to laugh at him. She eyed the gloomy place up and down once more before continuing. "Well you've certainly taken care of this place for me." She didn't catch him rolling his eyes at her, not like it would matter much to her if she did.

Her upturned lips began to fall into a frown as she began to think about the interior of her house. What if there was spiders and rats crawling over every surface? What if the furniture was so moldy and torn up that she wouldn't be able to distinguish the couch from the bed? What if there were holes in the wall the size of people? Amelia was young, fresh out of college. Arthur had been right when he said that she used about a substantial amount of her savings to pay for this house. She did have money left over for renovations but not enough to fix the disaster she was thinking of.

Theories surged through her brain and clouded her vision. She didn't notice Arthur leave her side until he stood directly in front of the chipped door. Scowling, he looked back towards the absent-minded woman. "Oi," her gaze snapped away from the shingles to look at him, "don't you want to see what it's like on the inside?"

There was a part of her that wanted to say no, to leave and stay somewhere else for a while. Though that part of her, the part that had tried to stop her from buying the house in the first place, often was ignored. Arthur was a bit taken aback when she began marching her way towards him. The last owners were an older couple who waited in hotel while their sons inspected the place to see if there was any major issues.

Amelia had held her head up high on her way over to him, intending to look just as audacious as the main characters in her favorite horror movies (the ones that lived of course). The first step on the porch had made the smallest of creaks under her feet, nothing more. Unfortunately she couldn't say the same for the second step. "Ah!" It took Arthur a second, two for Amelia, to realize what had happened.

"Did you seriously not notice the missing step?" Strangely enough, Amelia didn't even realize that she had tried to step on thin air until he had pointed it out to her.

Note to self, get steps fixed, she thought. The note, however, would easily be forgotten within the hour. Panicking, she pushed herself off from off the ground, afraid that he would eventually come over to her. One hand tried and failed to discreetly brush the muck off from the back of her jeans. Thinking it was clean, she continued her way to the door.

"For the record I am not clumsy just . . ."

"Unobservant." She recoiled at the statement.

"Err . . . I guess you could say that."

He didn't respond back and neither did she. Well, at least she would have if there was something more to say. Her left hand glided down the ends of her shirt and towards entrance of her pants pocket. It wasn't hard to find the key seeing as it was pressed up against a mini box of altoids. "Aha," she made quick work of pulling it out and pressing it into the lock.

Arthur, out of habit, was the first one to grab the handle of the door and push. However, rather than swing open with ease, it remained shut as if something was pushing against it from the inside. Tilting her head to the side, Amelia watched the Englishman press his entire weight against the door. Gritting his teeth, he glanced back over towards her. "It doesn't usually do this," he grumbled.

"Maybe I should try?"

For a moment the relentless rattling of the handle stopped as her statement registered in his mind. "I highly doubt that a girl like you would have better luck than me."

Her right hand moved to press against the edge of the door. Despite the fact that distance between her arm and his head was so slim that the edges of his hair brushed up against her, Arthur didn't see her hand. Much like Amelia with the porch steps, he didn't notice the door swing open until he started to fall forward. The scarping of the door upon the chipped wood floors echoed throughout the halls, much like a student pulling in their chair during a test. Strangely enough, no sound came forth when Arthur's body tumbled onto the foyer floor.

Amelia's chest heaved up in rapid motion as she took in a sharp gasp of surprise. Although it was not because of Arthur. Actually, any thoughts and concerns about him disappeared the moment her eyes met the interior of her house.

This . . . was not what she expected.


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia was never the type of person to think twice about her decisions. Never look back; that was her motto. However, it seemed as if today was the day she threw that saying out the window . . . or at least she would if it wasn't for the fact that her windows were one of the only things about her home that wasn't completely damaged.

Oh she was so going tohave a talk with her relator about this.

"Let me guess, it's not what you expected." Amelia's gaze connected with Arthur's as he stood up from the ground. The shock she had gotten from viewing the inside of the house had been so overwhelming that she had forgotten that he had fallen onto the floor.

"Uh . . . not exactly." She said with an obviously forced smile. Her lips curled downwards as she watched him brush off a considerable amount of dust from his clothing; that was not good. Despite this, the smile that often graced her face returned once more. "But it's nothing I can't handle!" He scoffed at her sudden burst of optimism.

For a few moments he looked away from Amelia and scanned the contents of the foyer. "It looks like you've got your work cut out for you." If she hadn't been looking at him, Amelia would have still been able to tell he was smirking at her.

She hated to admit but it was true. Her little 'pet project' looked as if it would take years to finish. The Barbie-perfect dream home she had envisioned a little while ago had been well-defined and almost real. Now it was all starting to blur in her mind, the images of tiresome restoration work shielded her view of the finished product.

If the foyer was any foreshadowing as to what the rest of the house looked like then she was definitely in over her head. The open concept it had gave her a view of several narrow hallways and an arched staircase on the right hand side of the entrance way. At one time it looked like the walls had been plastered with stripped white and mulberry colored wallpaper. The majority of it seemed to have been scrapped off leaving only stained patches on damaged, wood walls. Her gaze slowly trailed down towards the ground. It was unfortunate that the copper colored floorboards had holes in them, otherwise they would have been relatively easy to clean.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia hesitantly crossed over the threshold of her new home for the first time. Arthur, however, stood still in the entranceway of the house. To him it would be rude to enter without consent, although, she wouldn't care if he did.

Even when she stopped in the middle of foyer, the sounds that her shoe's had made on the floor still lingered for a few moments after and echoed throughout the house; alerting it of her presence. A strange feeling began to surface within her; it gradually crawled up from her stomach and lodged itself within her chest, refusing to leave. It was the type of feeling that one only got when they felt completely alone. Amelia, however, rejected this notion. Despite what she felt, she knew she wasn't alone. Arthur was still waiting there, watching her. He may have been a stranger but he was still a person and no one could feel alone when people were around, right?

"I would advise you to sleep somewhere else for a while." Amelia blinked as Arthur's voice brought her out of her thoughts. "Trust me when I say that it's dangerous to be living alone in this house."

"Thanks for the advice but I think I'll be fine here." She turned her gaze away from him before ending her statement.

"I wouldn't if I were you." He murmured solemnly.

Amelia gritted her teeth, putting extra pressure on the back of her jaw. His statement registered as a challenge in her mind. "Again, I'll be fine."

"Listen, this place is-"

"I said I'd be fine." Both of them were taken back by her bitter tone, especially Amelia. There were very few times in her life were she found herself snapping at someone she barely knew.

"Alright then, seeing as you probably have quite a bit of unpacking to do, I think I'll just head back home." Regardless of the things he wanted to tell her concerning her house and why staying was a bad idea, Arthur found himself turning and walking away from her. He did, however, stop to look back at her when he reached the porch steps. "By the way, it was nice meeting you, Amelia."

"You too," she didn't make a move to stop him from leaving. In the end there was no reason for him to stay, well, other than the fact that she simply didn't want to be left alone and there was no way she was going to tell him that.

"By the way, it was nice meeting you, Amelia."

The statement continued to repeat over and over again in her mind. It was strange how something so simple and common felt . . . off.

"By the way, it was nice meeting you, Amelia."

Maybe it had been the vaguely, direful tone he had used or the concerned expression that tried to come off as blank and nonchalant.

"It was nice meeting you, Amelia."

She began to walk out of the house and towards her car, intending to grab a few bags before heading back inside. From there she would access the condition of each room and would spend the night in the one that needed the least amount of repairs . . . or sleep in her car.

"Amelia."

. . .

Each bag and box had been dropped unceremoniously into a pile onto porch. Well . . . at least most of them had. The first box she had brought from the car had been bloated with various little kitchen utensils and rags, it was practically ready to burst. Although, had she remembered that the second porch step was missing, the box and its contents would have safely reached its destination. Now, along with navigating through her new home, she would have to eventually come back outside and comb through the grass in order to find everything that had fallen out of the box. Although, picking up cheap utensils were the least of her troubles.

Amelia once again stood in the doorway of the house, scanning over the foyer. There were two hallways and a stair case within her line of vision. At the moment, going upstairs was as safe as ice skating on a frozen lake. It looked safe but she couldn't be completely sure, it was better to cross going upstairs off her list. That meant that she had to take either the hallway on her left or right. She pondered over her two choices for a few seconds before coming to a decision. Amelia was right handed, meaning that her right hand did most of the work. Because of that, right was stronger and more reliable then left which, in her mind, meant that taking the right hallway was obviously better than taking the left.

Now there was only one thing left to do: go inside.

Of all the tasks in the world, walking into your own house has to be one of the easiest; that is what most people would say. However, most people are not everyone. There are some people out there who find it easier to be anywhere but 'home'. It's easier to ignore feelings such as loneliness when you're somewhere that's crowed with people, even when they're not talking to you. When your home you can't ignore the fact that you are the only one who's clothes are in the closet, you are the only who cooks food for yourself, and you are the only one who's ever home.

"This is ridicules," she muttered under her breath. "I mean, it's just a house." As she spoke louder, her words echoed throughout her home and eventually came back to her, giving her an idea. Smiling, the American finally moved her stiff legs across the barrier and as expected, nothing happened. However, that didn't mean that it would continue to stay that way. The feeling in her chest was currently lying dormant, waiting for her to go further and further into her home. It would awaken and begin its torment on her mind when she was completely surrounded by the walls of her home, away from the door that would lead her out of this place.

The echoing of each step taken towards the right hallway was like chimes from an alarm clock, each sound only made the feeling more aware of what was going on. She stopped walking for a brief second when she finally reached the opening to the right hallway. "That's weird," The outside of the house was a mesh of boring colors and rotting weeds. The foyer was just as dull and damaged as the outside the only thing that was different was that it lacked plants and animals, something she was thankful for. The hall, however, was . . . nice.

The walls along the hallway were adorned with a velvet red wallpaper; not a stain anywhere on it. The fact that the wallpaper wasn't damaged was easier to swallow then the polished, oak wood floors that lacked any sort of holes. "Is this even part of the same house?"

More importantly, was the rest of the house in the same condition?


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur Kirkland had many passions; one of which was gardening. The perks to sharing a large field in a dense forest with little to no neighbors was that there was plenty of land to use for his hobby. What had started out as a simple patch of herbs growing in the backyard turned into vast and prosperous orchard. Vegetables were plotted in wood boxes along the right side of the house while shrubs ran along the majority of his plot of land. Multi-colored flowers grew in little beds against the front of the house and pots of herbs were placed neatly along the porch.

The abundance of plant life improved the overall look of his little, celadon colored cottage. Unfortunately no matter how much he tried to fix the appearance of his home, it would have no effect on the eyesore that he was forced to look at every time he walked out of his house. Said eyesore being the only other house in sight. Previous owners had spent ridiculous amounts of time and money on renovations for the interior. Unfortunately they had never been able to start work on improving the exterior which, to him, was the most important part. He had hoped that this new owner, Amelia, would at least attempt to improve the outside.

Arthur realized—after finally meeting her— that it was highly unlikely that the girl would get any repairs done. It became painfully obvious that her lack of skills and finances would keep the house from reaching its full potential. Maybe the next owner would be in a better situation than her. All he could do now was wait; a thing he had grown accustomed to. Arthur, having been here for a while, had witnessed countless amounts of people come and go from here. The only thing that ever seemed to stay was him and that house.

There was no way that Amelia F. Jones was going to change anything around here. Even meeting her earlier that day had no effect on how he spent the rest of it. Actually, he hadn't thought of the girl for more than a couple of brief instances since then. Thinking back on it, it seemed a bit strange that he hadn't thought of her much—well—until now.

Arthur usually enjoyed dinner at about sixty-thirty and washed up at seven. Today he had planned something slightly more elaborate to make compared to his usual meals and wasn't finished cooking it until seven. It was close to eight by the time he began cleaning the small mess of dishes scattered on his kitchen counter.

His kitchen, or rather his entire house, looked as if it had been modeled after a 1940's home improvement magazine. The type of style that only an old woman could find pleasing to the eyes. Due to its age it lacked a few modern appliances; a dishwasher being one of them. Since he lived alone, he saw no reason to get one. It was only on nights like these when he stood scrubbing away by the kitchen sink, humming impatiently, that he regretted not buying one.

It wasn't often that doing the dishes felt like such a grueling task to him, it wasn't like he had anything better to do at night. Actually, sometimes it was even relaxing. Especially when he was able to enjoy the view of the sun setting from the sink window. Unfortunately that wasn't the case for today. It was obvious, without even having to look up from his work, that the last remains of day had died down long ago. The only light left outside was coming from the other house.

He thought nothing of it at first, choosing to focus more on the stained pots and pans that plagued his kitchen counter. At the time, the clouded dish water seemed more interesting than what was going on outside—or rather what wasn't going on outside. It wasn't until the number of unwashed dishes became scarce did he actually begin to notice it.

For years now there hadn't been a single light coming from any of the discolored windows, even when other people lived there. If she, unlike the previous owners, wanted to stay the night at that house then it was to be expected that there would be a few lights on. However for the past hour only a single small, flickering light could be seen from one of the rooms.

"Strange," he whispered to himself as the spoon that he had been wiping dry fell from his grasp and into the dishwater with a faint plop. "Shouldn't that room be empty?" His gaze lingered on the light for a moment, wondering what a girl like Amelia Jones was doing in an empty room.

. . .

"Hey there! You've reached the cell of Amelia F. Jones, Sorry I wasn't able to pick up at the moment— I usually do. Any who, leave a message if you want or just call me back later."

Much to the abandoned phones' disappointment, no message was left. Amelia, on the rare occasion that she didn't pick up her phone, always managed to call back within a few minutes; most of her friends never bothered to call back because of it. However, it was highly unlikely that she was going to see the missed call message anytime soon. Not after leaving the stars and stripped cased phone in the center console of her little car.

She was too deep in the center of her house to hear or see anything coming from outside.

Amelia's home, although large, was in no means a mansion. With that said, it was surprising how much time she had spent exploring it. At first she had planned to be quick about it. Get a brief look at the rooms, decide where she was going to sleep and begin to unpack.

Somehow every hallway, room, desk, closet and bookcase caused her to stray away from the goal. Every little detail that would usually be looked over in some other home, became the most intriguing thing she'd ever seen. For a girl with a small attention span, this was definitely unusual.

Especially since nothing she had come across so far had been exceptional. Most of the rooms contained nothing more than common furniture items (and not the expensive kind). It was almost disappointing how empty the wardrobes and bookcases were. Any evidence of life before Amelia had been removed, almost taking away the character and history of what this place was. Despite this she continued to keep her head up high for there were still a lot place's she had yet to see.

It became obvious that any further exploration of her home would have to wait. For the past few hours, Amelia had been relying on the light coming from outside. None of the light switches seemed to work and any candles that may have been placed on the bedside tables were long gone. She hated to admit it, but there were times when her bold demeanor wavered. The hallways that lead to further into the center of the house, far away from any windows, truly tested her resolve.

Before, back when it was still light out, she managed to push any creeping fears down and continue going deeper. But now that the sun had finally gone down, it seemed as if going further was something only a character in a horror movie would do. The type of character that people like Amelia constantly rolled their eyes at. The type of character that deserved their gruesome fate.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath at the realization that the bulge in her pocket was nothing more than a box of altiods—not her phone. "I've spent the last eight years of my life with my phone practically glued to my body and now it's gone." She didn't want to glance away from her pants. Looking away meant looking up at the direction she was pointed towards; a direction that no sane person would want to take.

"This is ridiculous," the word 'ridiculous' echoed throughout the house longer than the rest of her statement. When it resonated back to her, it sounded distorted from her actual voice. It was much lower and ominous, as if the house had it said it instead of her. Once silence fell over the area again, she finally dared to move her gaze away from the plainness and safety of her own self and up towards the inevitable. "Come on, Amelia." Reassuring words did little to calm the rapid and almost irregular beats of her heart. "It's just a stupid—"

". . . Hallway." A little while ago it truly was just an ordinary, stupid hallway. With no light coming from either end, Amelia realized that it was no longer just that. She couldn't see any of the velvet wallpaper that reminded her of cupcakes or the dark oak wood floors that resembled Hershey's milk chocolate. Any doors that lined the edge were gone, consumed by pitch black darkness.

. . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Remember when I said I would try to update more frequently . . . about that. It seems school got in the way and I didn't have time to update. I am now though. 
> 
> Anyways, special thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited the story.

It made no difference whether Amelia's eyes were open or closed, everything around her looked the same no matter what she did. Briefly she wondered if she was asleep, dreaming of nothing. As nice as that sounded, she realized rather quickly that being asleep meant not being able to feel and right now she could feel everything.

"I . . ." The single word had been uttered way too softly for it to have been echoed throughout the house. Amelia had wanted—no needed— it to have been followed by more words. Hearing something, anything, other than silence was something she dearly craved. Without sound and without people, she felt almost hollow.

Despite how unpleasant it would be, she almost wanted to scream. It wouldn't matter if she did though, no one would be able to hear it and therefore nothing would be gained from doing it. Slowly, she began to turn her body back towards the direction she came from. Amelia was fairly certain that there had been nothing other than doors in this hall, it would be impossible for her to bump into something that wasn't the walls.

"Just gotta keep . . . moving." She breathed out in relief when she finally uttered something intelligible, something that made it seem as if there was someone else there to talk to her. She kept her arms by her sides as she continued to move down the hall, not wanting to touch something she was unfamiliar with.

Amelia took small, shuffle like steps and refused to move in any other direction then the one she was pointed towards. She felt as if she was stuck on a treadmill, one that only speed it up with her increasing movements. The ache of being alone was replaced by the overwhelming frustration she felt about her situation and the desire to finally see light.

A short gasp left her almost closed lips as she caught sight of the first hints of it. It seeped out from under a closed doorway, the color it made told her that it wasn't artificial. That meant that the only source of light was coming from a window. The fear Amelia felt left her as she dashed towards the source, not caring that she might bump into a wall in the process.

After skidding to a stop, her right hand made quick work of finding the brass doorknob. "Jackpot!" A grin contorted onto her face for only a flicker of a moment. The word she had exclaimed seconds ago came back to her, sounding slightly deeper; as if a man had said it. The Goosebumps on her back rose to an immediate attention at the sound, causing her to shiver despite the heat she felt. Amelia twisted the knob before pushing all her weight against the door, stumbling inside the moment it swung open.

The relief she felt tuned out the screeching sound the door made as it was slammed shut behind her. Her knees nearly buckled as they tried to keep her body from sinking down to the floor. Taking a few breaths to calm herself, Amelia began surveying the area around her.

It wasn't anything special compared to every other room she'd seen before. Actually, she was pretty sure she had already been in here once and had left rather quickly. It wasn't like it contained anything of importance in it. A few floppy pieces of torn cardboard in the corner, scuffed up dark wood floors, and dull eggshell white walls. At least the other places she had seen so far contained something to make the room look full.

The last thing Amelia noticed was the source of her relief: a window. However, the old glass made it almost impossible to recognize anything coming from outside. The only upside to it was that it still let in the moonlight.

"Wonderful," she muttered sarcastically. "Guess I'll be sleeping in here tonight."

. . .

"What is she doing?" Pulling away the drapes, Arthur scowled at the house next door. For the past hour he had busied himself with a number of trivial things, trying to keep himself occupied before going off to bed. Nothing he did seem to make him forget about the single light coming from next door, the only indicator that a young, naïve woman lived there. He hated the fact that he was showing signs of becoming a nosy neighbor, he had never done this with anyone else who had lived there before.

Shaking his head, Arthur removed his gaze from the window and stepped away from the area altogether. Nothing Amelia could possibly do in there should concern him, he thought. Besides, it was her house. She could set the entire damn place on fire and that wouldn't bother him one bit; just as long as the fire didn't reach him of course.

He couldn't deny that he was somewhat curious about what could possibly be keeping her secluded in one room for such a long time. It was too early for anyone to be asleep at this time of night, especially someone in their early twenties. There was always the chance that she wasn't even in that room at all and she had simply left something in there that gave off light. Still, no matter what answer came to mind it still felt odd to him. Then again, Amelia Jones seemed like an odd person.

"The type of odd person who only has one light on." He mumbled bitterly, wishing he could stop thinking about something so insignificant. A sudden ding emitting from the kitchen temporarily turned his thoughts away from the other house. Without giving the window another look, he quickly made his way into the kitchen. As he began searching for a pair of oven gloves, his mind wandered back to its previous thoughts. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the red mitts onto his hands, feeling in an even poorer mood then before.

He wanted her to turn that damn light off; maybe then he could finally focus on more important things. Despite how he felt, Arthur was extremely careful when opening up the oven and retrieving the baked contents inside. The soft, sugary smell wafted up to his face in an instant. His lips curled upwards as he placed the pan down on the stovetop. Though, he wasn't just smiling because of the smell. Upon seeing his creation, an idea bubbled to the top of his mind. His eyes travelled upwards from the pan to the kitchen window. Just as Arthur suspected, the light was still on.

. . .

Being a former Girl Scout, Amelia thought that she was used to sleeping on the ground. There was, however, a difference between sleeping in a tent with a sleeping bag and sleeping in an old room with nothing to lie down on. It also wasn't just the ground that prevented her sleeping. She might have been able to bear the flat, uncomfortable surface if she hadn't seen mouse droppings in the corner of the room. The idea of being awakened by wild, disease filled animal wasn't exactly a good picture in her mind.

Still, spending an entire night sitting up and staying awake sounded much nicer then leaving the room completely. Amelia had also considered leaving through the window; a task that would be much easier had she not been on the top floor. It seemed—to her—that the odds of leaving this room before sunrise was stacked up against her.

For what felt like the longest time, she sat in the middle of the room, sitting an upright fetal position. By now her knees had begun to dig into her jawbone, taking away from the pain she felt in her back. She still didn't move because of this. To her, this was the best option she could think of.

Squeak!

Gasping, Amelia jumped up from the floor. Her gaze darted across every inch of the room, wishing it was a little bit brighter. The corners and edges were barely lit making it almost impossible to detect another organism. She stood still, afraid to make a move. Afraid to startle what might be occupying the room with her.

Just as her heart began to drop to her normal rate, the pitter-patter of small feet could be heard from the left perimeter of the area. It didn't take long for her to find the source of the noise. The outline of a small creature scurried across the room and towards the pile of cardboard. Out of shock, she tumbled backwards onto the ground. Without thinking, her hands moved to the shoe on her left foot. Pulling it off, she hurled it across the room, striking the creature and the pile of cardboard.

A yelp emitted from the apparent mouse as it dashed off into a hole Amelia had neglected to notice before. Clutching the ends of her shirt, she exhaled a few labored breaths. It took her awhile to finally get up and retrieve her shoe from the mess in the corner. She made sure to keep a few steps away from the pile, afraid that more droppings were concentrated in that area. Immediately she found the shoe string sticking out from under everything.

As she picked it up, the cardboard sifted around and revealed a little bit more than a shoe.

. . .

The more Arthur walked towards the house, the more he began regret his decision. With a flashlight in his left hand and a saran wrapped pan in the other, he found himself standing in front of the porch steps. It had seemed so much simpler in theory. Just walk up to her door, knock, and offer her the cake. It wasn't like Amelia would be angry for interrupting her so early into the night. He highly doubted that she was unpacking at the moment. A quick glance at the boxes along the porch confirmed that suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the front door, carefully avoiding the missing second step. He placed the flashlight down by his foot before given the wood a quick and light rap. He waited for a couple minutes, feeling somewhat awkward and antsy, before realizing that nothing from the inside had heard him. Ignoring the ache to turn around and walk home, his fist collided with the door, giving it a much louder and firmer knock.

From where he stood, he could tell that the sounded resonated within the house. Unless Amelia was asleep, she would definitely be able to hear that from wherever she was. He smirked, feeling quite pleased with himself. He, however, was still a bit unsure whether he wanted her to open the door or not.

Rather than to be greeted by an opened door and a smiling young woman; he was greeted by a scream. The pan he had been holding against his hip almost smashed against the ground had he not caught it by the edge. He, however, wasn't very careful about placing it back on the ground. With both hands free, he opened the door on his own accord and darted inside. He only hoped that the scream was a good enough reason for running into someone else's house uninvited.


	6. Chapter 6

There could have been a number of logical things sticking out from under the cardboard rubble. Styrofoam, bubble-wrap, paper towels, utensils, clothing, dolphin shaped paper weights, snow globes, family pictures, and even overdue library books. The list could literally go on and on while the likelihood of finding one particular item from the rest was like playing roulette. It was hard to believe that Amelia happened to have found the two items she needed the most. It was almost as if the universe wanted her to come out of this unscathed.

The first thing she had noticed, as her shoe was picked up by the string, was the package of unwrapped dinner candles. Suddenly she remembered what it felt like to be excited again, an emotion this house seemed to drain her of. With light, she could make her way back to her car and away from the silence. Her left hand snatched up the candles and clutched them to her beating chest, forgetting completely about the mouse droppings it had been laying in.

Her lips started to move upwards into a genuine smile, one that would likely be followed a triumphant fist pump. Her smile, however, stopped before it could finish. The relief in her eyes disappeared as her lips curled downwards, farther then she thought they could go. The candles that had been so dear to her a minute ago were lobbed against the wall, a couple of them breaking into pieces.

"Fucking-err!" Her hands knotted into her hair as curses poured out from her mouth. It had taken her a moment to realize that getting candles without a match was like getting a phone charger without an actual phone.

The feeling of hopelessness was a dreadful thing, even if one was aware that it would eventually end. However, regret seemed to be an even more unbearable feeling as a silver, Zippo lighter that had once been covered up by the package of candles now decided to reveal itself to her.

Grabbing at the lighter, Amelia made short work of finding the now damaged package lying a few feet away from the wall she had thrown it against. It was obvious just by picking it up that they had smashed into several smaller pieces of wax. A couple of candles spilled out, breaking even more than they already were, as she ripped the plastic apart by her teeth.

The surface of the lighter was smooth and slightly heavy; a good indication that it could still work. The first click didn't produce a light or a spark, earning a frustrated growl from the girl. Her thumb clicked rapidly until the spark appeared directly in front of her.

"Finally!" She cried, feeling as if she had just avoided a psychotic brake down.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as the longest, unbroken candle was moved closer and closer to the flame. Afraid that her erratic movements would put it out, Amelia thrust the end of the candle into the heat. A second and half passed before she pulled the end of it back out, much slower this time.

Within a moment, the room became twice as bright as it had before. No mouse poop infested corners or cob web covered celling could be hidden within the darkness. It wasn't necessarily a pretty sight to behold; now that it could be fully seen. To Amelia, however, this room was the best in house.

. . .

As nice as candles were, they sure as heck weren't a sleeping bag. After lighting off a few more and placing them neatly in the middle, Amelia had realized that the lights could only take away some of her fear. The pain that slowly slithered from her back and into her neck and hips was showing no signs of stopping. Sleeping unprotected on the floor wouldn't have been such a bad idea if it weren't for the other furry inhabitants of her house.

"This sucks," With her knees pressed up against her face, the statement had come out muffled and less serious than she had wanted. It may have been a long time since finding the candles but there was still at least eight or nine hours before daylight. There was also the chance that the candles wouldn't last that long either or that the lighter would eventually run out. The house itself was rather drafty and there had been quite a few times in which she had to relight one of the candles.

The more time went on the more Amelia began to notice a different type of ache forming within in her chest and pressing against her ribs. It reminded her of the times when she would accidently take a way too large bite out of her food. In the beginning it felt as if she was choking. The barely chewed lump would slither down at an almost inert pace, scratching up the back of her throat. Even when it finally did plop down into her stomach, the presence of it would remain lodged there for minutes afterwards.

Instead of fading like the food, the ache only spread. It shot up into her head, stinging the corner of her eyes and playing nonexistent memories in her head. Voices, the one thing she craved more than light, plagued the room around her.

"Your father and I both told you this was a bad idea, maybe its best you come home." There was knowingness in her mother's voice, as if she had always seen it coming. Amelia could have sworn that it was bordering cockiness.

"I never saw you as being the type to live out in the country anyway. I always pegged you as more of a city girl." One of Amelia's female friends had said something like this to her days before, at the time it was more subtle in its overall message.

"I knew . . ."

"It's better this way . . . you . . . never last . . . world."

Standing up, the sickening crack of her joints were silent against the thoughts in her head. In a way, to her, they were real and they were there. Invisible people speaking all at the same time, as if they could only see Amelia and not each other.

"Could have told you . . . before . . . leaving . . . spending . . . oh well."

Within an instant the voices had begun to swell up in volume, mixing into one muddled melody.

"You can always stay with . . . rent . . . not bad. . ."

"Shut up!" She screamed in frustration, painfully pushing the palms of her hands against her ears. The volume, for a minute, wouldn't let up. To Amelia it seemed as if they were intending to hurt her not only emotionally but physically as well. To cripple her into a sudden realization. One that would have her gone before the sunrise.

They stopped though. Just as she was reaching the breaking point, as cliché as that was. The voices had hushed up in the same way an audience would before a play. Any sort of relief was swept away as soon as it came. It became apparently that they were only a prelude to something else. Something much more important than their sympathetic and disappointed ramblings.

"We all make mistakes Amelia."

Amelia blinked, her fear turning to confusion. She couldn't place a name or a face to this particular voice, although she swore that she had heard it somewhere before. It was soft, that was extremely obvious. It was soft in the same way her mother's voice was soft. As feminine as it sounded, it seemed to belong to a man.

"But at least you're here now."

A chill from the draft came from behind, stroking up the back of her spine and into her neck. The confusion she felt left her body, letting fear be the only thing to remain. Whoever's voice that was didn't seem to matter much anymore. Amelia was almost one hundred percent convinced that the voice talking to her now was not in her head.

The wind outside picked up, causing the draft to as well. The cold air that had been touching her, freezing her to the ground, moved to blow out the candles. As the faint smell of smoke wafted around the room, mixing with the sudden darkness, a loud rumbling came from another part of the house and echoed eerily into the room.

Amelia screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

It was dark, darker than it was on the outside. If he hadn't been running around in a panic, Arthur would have thought the entire area had been taken out a cliché horror movie.

"Amelia!" His voice bounced off the walls, desperately searching for the person in question. Since entering, he had yet to hear another scream or even any sort of indication that there was anybody else within the house. With each silent second he could feel his heart racing faster. Part of him believed that it might as well burst if she didn't call back soon.

The flashlight in his left hand did a poor job of illuminating his path. To him, it all seemed to be a blur. More than once he had almost come to believe that picture frames and loose wallpaper had been her. Arthur truly wanted to be calm about the whole situation, given the atmosphere and her lack of experience it seemed logical that she had screamed at something as insignificant as a mouse. But even knowing this, there was still the slimmest chance that she had found something a little bit more . . . troubling.

"Amelia!" He stopped in place after circling around back to the main foyer. "It's me, Arthur, where are you!?" His frantic impatience only grew as the flashlight flickered in front of him, threatening to make this even worse than it was.

The wind outside picked up more as a few leaves tumbled across the floor and in front of the small light source.

"Arthur!"

He almost dropped the incompetent object as it flickered once more at the sound of her voice, Amelia's voice. He exhaled in relief after processing everything, for a moment he had feared that there was more than two humans in the area. It wasn't uncommon for unscrupulous characters to seek refuge in abandoned houses and buildings. Although, there were plenty of other things that were worth being worried about.

"Where are you?!" He repeated once more.

"Upstairs, damn it!" Flinching at her harshness, he bounded towards the rickety staircase. Every other time he had come upstairs to help work on the house, he had taken lots of care going up. He more than anybody knew how fragile and worn the steps were. Despite this he still found himself running at top speed, his fear of what awaited him being more concerning then his fear of breaking something.

He didn't think it was possible, but it seemed as if the upstairs was even darker then downstairs. How that was true was beyond him. The second thing he noticed was the way the wallpaper up here was peeling almost halfway down the walls. They puffed out and touched him as he ran in no particular direction.

He cursed as the flashlight began to switch off and on for more than a few seconds, tricking him every time into believing it was gone for good. However, the seventh time it did stay off, letting the darkness surround him completely. Stopping in his tracks, afraid to crash into one of the walls and cause even more damage to it, he called out to her again.

"Amelia, I can't see yo—!" Arthur's statement cut off as sharp jab to his ribs sent him crashing into the adjacent wall behind him. His hands gripped at the wallpaper around him on instinct but they did nothing to stop his slump to the ground.

Catching his breath, he heard the faintest sound of two clicks before the area around him became visible. The first thing he saw was not the dust encrusted ground or the somber picture frames hanging to close to the floor but rather a pair of dirtied converse sneakers.

"Oh, there you are." His gaze traveled upwards fast, instantly catching sight of the blonde haired woman holding the flickering lighter.

"What are you doing here?" Despite the lack of anger in her voice, Arthur still felt annoyed by her first choice of words. No mention of 'sorry Arthur, didn't mean to bump into you' or 'thank goodness you came' was made.

"Oh," he paused, rubbing the back of his head. "I heard you screaming." Not wishing to spend any more time on the floor, he stood up to look the curious American in the eye. "Is everything all right?" Arthur briefly scanned the hall around them, looking to see if there was something amiss.

Amelia hesitated, her cheeks getting a bit red. "N-no of course not," She laughed awkwardly, "you must be hearing things."

"I'm pretty sure I heard a young lady screaming and last time I checked," he crossed his arms as the fake look of confidence grew on her face "you were the only young lady around."

Biting the inside of her mouth, Amelia's bemused expression fell within an instant and became replaced with an insulted one. "How the hell would you have been able to have hear someone scream from my house all the way over to yours, hm?"

Her foot tapped impatiently against the floor as his serious and confident expression faltered. "W-well, you see I—" A smirk grew on her face as he stumbled over his words, "I wasn't necessarily in my house when I heard you scream."

"And where exactly where you?" She dragged out the 'and' for effect.

He took a deep breath, "I was outside your door."

". . . Why?"

". . . I wanted to give you a cake I made."

She blinked, "That's all."

"Of course," he coughed slightly "you'll find that I'm not that type of person who easily gives surprise visits to their neighbors."

The irritation in Amelia's eyes faded away as she easily forgot the topic of their previous discussion. "You came over at this time of night just to give me a welcome gift?" She giggled, much to Arthur's displeasure.

"It seemed like a nice gesture," he looked away from her "at least at the time it did."

She flashed him a wide smile. "Thank you, Arthur." Amelia steadied her hand as the lighters flame waved too much for both of their liking. "That was really sweet of you."

Uncrossing his hands, Arthur's light frown twisted easily back into a straight line. Looking at her cheery grin, he soon found himself doing the same. "Well, I am a gentleman after all."

"I just have one question."

"Mhm?"

"What happened to the cake?"

. . .

Holding the front door open for her, Arthur watched Amelia walk back outside. The lighter in her hand quickly blew out after a gust of wind blew over the area, making them shiver. Despite the fact that her back was turned, it was obvious that she was more than happy to be back outside. Even if it was a bit chilly.

Closing the door behind him, Arthur watched Amelia stared at the pan resting neatly against the mat before picking it up with both hands. "I think this might be safer in my car." She motioned over towards said vehicle with her chin before walking off the porch.

Rather than leave and spend a nice quiet night at his own house, Arthur followed her out. "Amelia?"

She stopped for a moment, caught off guard by his voice. "Yes," She glanced once towards him before opening the passenger door and placing the pan on top of the worn seat cushion.

"Are you going to back there?"

"Um," Amelia didn't have to look back to know the answer. "You see, the drafts pretty bad in there so I think I'm just going to sleep in my car for the night." He could tell she was trying to keep positive about the whole affair, even though sleeping alone in her car in the middle of the dark woods wasn't exactly a step up.

"Well," Arthur's gaze met the ground. Something inside of him wanted to simply wish her a goodnight and turn back. To him there wasn't much else left to do for someone he had only just met.

"It's getting late, you might want to head home." She spoke softly.

Sighing, he looked back up to her. "I know we just met and all but . . ." he studied the confused way she turned her head at him, wanting very much to back out of the situation he was getting himself in. "It would be wrong not to offer you the guest bedroom when it's so cold and dark out here."

Blinking, Amelia thought over his words for a moment. "Are you offering me a place to stay for the night?"

Arthur hesitated, "It would seem that way."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, guess who's back again with another chapter. It's been a few months but I hope you can forgive me. I'm sure everyone here is busy with something in their lives, I just hope that things get easier as the year progresses. Anyways, this chapters a bit short compared to the rest. I'm hoping its quality is still up there and isn't lacking in any way. I hope to update a lot more soon and even put up a new Hetalia fanfiction 'wink' that I hope is just as popular.

There was at least a thousand and one different reasons why doing this was a bad idea. They both knew that. If things had been any different than Amelia would still be in that room, miserable and internally frightened. While Arthur would have been asleep for the past half hour, comfy and blissfully unaware of his new neighbors inability to walk out of her own home.

"Nice Place ya' got here." Smiling, Amelia set down her bag for a moment and took in the atmosphere of Arthur's home.

It was considerably smaller than her own house, the door they had entered led straight into a living room instead of a foyer. It was much cleaner, though. The way a house should look. The ornate furniture was spotless, making Amelia believe that Arthur spent a considerable amount of time cleaning his home rather than doing more enjoyable things. It reminded her of time back when she lived with her parents, back when someone else cleaned up her room.

Before getting her new house, Amelia had spent much of her adult life living in updated apartments with bold colored walls. This place was the exact opposite. The only appliance that looked updated was the TV. The walls, however, sported a pastel type of wallpaper, the kind she would see in her grandmother's old house.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he still found himself smirking at the compliment. "Thank you. You'll find that there's no broken floor boards or small rodents anywhere around here." There were many things Arthur Kirkland took pride in, some of which being his cooking, his writing, his poetry collection, and his clothing style. It came as no surprise to anyone that his home would be on that list.

She rolled her eyes at the way he looked oh so pleased in that moment. For a second she feared that she was even becoming jealous of the man. The very thought almost made her fall to the floor, something that would no doubt create an even more awkward situation (something that seemed almost impossible at the moment).

Here he was with a nice, warm home. The type of place one would find in some country living magazine. Not too far away from here stood her house, cold and uninviting as ever. Anyone who saw it could tell that it was one broken window away from being condemned and demolished.

The sound of Arthur walking closer snapped Amelia out of her thoughts. "Maybe with some work, and a few thousand dollars, your house won't look too bad." He hadn't intended to offend her, just poke at a very obvious fact. Unfortunately his words hit deep and Amelia momentarily forgot how generous the Brit in front of her was being.

"It ain't really my style." There was nothing positive in the way she spoke, only bitterness.

Narrowing his eyes, Arthur turned away from her. "I wouldn't expect an American like you to appreciate my taste in decorations."

Amelia snorted at his response, "You call this taste." She said, gesturing to the room.

"If I recall, almost a minute ago you seemed to think my house was 'nice'." Amelia's only response was to stand there and glare at the man, keeping her mouth wired shut. Taking her silence as a sign of defeat, Arthur's lips began to crease into a smirk. "Forgive me for not finding mounted deer heads and lighted beer signs to be good home decorations."

Scoffing at the insult, she picked up the bags by her feet and began to walk past him. "Just show me to my room already."

Motioning towards the hallway on the right, Arthur took the lead in front of her. "As you wish."

. . .

Seeing as the house was small, Amelia was not surprised that the only guest room was too. The first thing she had noticed upon walking in was the tightly made bed, one of only three things residing within. The other two were a dark oak dresser drawer and a matching nightstand. Although there wasn't any sign of dust, she guessed that very few people had actually used this room in the past few years.

"You don't get many guest often, do you?"

He shook his head, not looking one bit ashamed by his lack of company. "Most of my family is across an ocean so visits tend to be scarce."

"What about friends?"

He wrinkled his nose at her, "I prefer not to let people I'm not related to sleep over. They have their own homes anyways."

She smirked, "Would that make me the exception then?"

"Seeing as you're not my friend I'd say no."

Placing a hand against her chest, Amelia took a limp step back. "I'm hurt, you're telling me that we're not friends." Sarcasm dripped from her words.

"I just met you today!"

"Well for your information, I've considered you a friend since the moment I saw you." She huffed and for a moment Arthur wondered if she meant it.

Not needing any permission, the bags in her hands were unceremoniously tossed against the side of the bed. Arthur stood in the doorway, silent, as she sat down onto the covers. They were silent for a few moments and Amelia wondered if he was intending to say more.

She blinked as he slowly opened his mouth, looking as if some imaginary person was prying it open by force. "Not to be rude or anything but . . . what are you going to do now?"

Tilting her head, she replied "Um, sleep?"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm talking about your house."

A look of nervousness flashed within her eyes, wishing that this question could have been avoided until tomorrow. "Fix it, of course."

"Surely you've thought this out more than that, right?"

She wanted to lie; tell Arthur that she did and refuse to divulge any specific details. But something about the way he looked told her that he wouldn't satisfied with any such answer. "No" his eyes widened in surprise "I haven't."

"Miss Jones, how old are you?"

Of all the responses he could have given her for such a statement, Amelia didn't expect that to be one. "Twenty-Six, why?"

"Do you have any experience with home improvement projects?" He looked so serious in this moment, staring down at her with a look of harshness.

She shook her head no. "Never had to."

"I see." For a second she could have sworn that Arthur looked downright disappointed in her, almost as if she was something more to him than a stranger. Sighing, he stepped back from her room and began to turn himself around. "Goodnight, then."

There were a thousand things that could have been said, anything to stop this man from leaving the room with the belief that she was nothing more than a naïve, child. Someone who didn't think about her future and viewed the world with unrealistic eyes. She wanted to get angry, tell him that he had no right to judge her like some sort of superior. Tell him that she had thought of something more before she got here and that her present predicament wasn't caused by a lack of preparedness. Anything to get him to realize that she wasn—"Goodnight, Arthur."

And that's how their night ended.

. . .


End file.
